


Sita's Raam

by Pratigyakrishnaki



Category: Ramayana - Valmiki, सिया के राम | Siya Ke Ram
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pratigyakrishnaki/pseuds/Pratigyakrishnaki
Summary: Sita's Raam, alternately titled The Victory of HopeSita's Swayamvar.Basically how Raam and Sita finally are united.Tooth rotting fluff, you've been warned.(Also, Sita's heart goes through a lot in this fic)





	Sita's Raam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayavanavihariniHarini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayavanavihariniHarini/gifts), [Golden_Daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Daughter/gifts), [arpita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arpita/gifts).



> Small glossary of definitions at the end.

I was born in the earth, where time didn't exist. He was born in a lavish palace at noon exactly. I lived in a simple, small kingdom, adopted daughter of a philosopher King. He lived in a large bustling city, the capital of a huge nation, crown prince and jewel of the kingdom. I had three younger sisters, all of whom were my companions. He had three younger brothers all of whom were part of himself. I grew up with nature learning from _Rishi_ Yagnavalkya, _Mata_ Katyayani and _Mata_ Maitreyi. He grew up in a _tapovan_ surrounded by nature taught by _Rishi_ Vashisht and _Mata_ Arundhati. I learned the arts of science, nature, and beauty. He learned the arts of war, politics, and strength. I learned how to run a household. He learned how to run a kingdom. It was doubtful we would ever meet, but his valor was great and I, hearing his tales, began to hope. We came close to meeting at _Rishi_ Vishwamitra's ashram, but fate had other plans. I never lost hope. Soon, though, almost in the blink of an eye, the fated day of our meeting arrived. It was my _swayamvar._ All of Mithila shone, ready to show off its own daughter-like princess. Invitations were sent everywhere, including his own kingdom, Ayodhya. The _sabha_ was decked in flowers and garlands of lotus, jasmine, and carnations, every corner lit with _diyas_. The _Pinaka_ sat on a platform in the middle of the arena. As I entered, I bowed to it touching my head to its handle, praying to Lord Shiva with all my heart. If I had been pure, then I would find my Raam as Parvati found her Shiva. Every step I took to my seat on the raised dais, every breath, Raam's name found its way onto my lips. As the gong chimed loudly, my heart began pounding. This would be the first trial of many for me to find my soul mate.

Many kings tried and failed. Lifting the bow was a feat no one could accomplish, it seemed. Forget even stringing it. Every trial seemed like my own, and each failure gave way to more and more hope, but he hadn't even entered the arena. My mother saw my eyes shifting, looking around for him. She chuckled dismissing my worry as nerves. Soon, all the kings that had been invited had failed in their task, save two. The _Pinaka_ still sat calmly in its place, unmoved, unbothered by the many kings who had exerted their energy on it. Then the heavy doors of the _sabha_ flew open and Raavan entered. He walked in with an arrogance that was suffocating. His every step fell heavily, commanding the attention of the world but I didn't even glance in his direction. I kept my eyes firmly on the ground, my birth mother giving me strength. I muttered under my breath praying to her, Shiva, Vishnu, Durga, Indra, every god and goddess I could think of. Please, please, _please_ , don’t let Raavan pick up that bow.

People gasped, and my mother squeezed my hand tightly. The door guard announced that Raavan had slipped his hands under the bow. My heart was pounding so hard, every beat whispering Raam, Raam, Raam. Muttering began. My mother whispered, _Hey Shiva, he’s lifting it, he’s actually lifting it!_ But my eyes still would not move to look at him. My lips moved even faster, just chanting Shiva’s name. Lord Shiva, if I have been a true _bhakt_ , a true devotee, please help me. My eyes shut as the muttering got louder. Then… a large crash was heard. I looked into my mother’s eyes, which were widened in surprise. Raavan had failed. Suddenly, the surprise in my mother’s eyes shifted to fear. A large gasp was heard around the arena, then a beat of silence. Then there was roaring: aggressive, loud, and bone-quaking; but I still didn’t lay my eyes on the demon king. I heard Urmila whisper, _Ten Heads! Hey Bhagwan!_ Raavan began screaming at my father, obscenities, slurs, and derogatory terms. I shut my ears and my eyes tightly, trying to drown out everything. When I opened them again, Raavan (and his uncle) had disappeared. When I glanced at the great bow again, it seemed to smile at me. _Don’t worry child, your Raam will find you._

Another heavy but silent beat passed and then the arena burst into unrest. Mutters were heard all around, “Impossible task. Unmarried princess. Not worth the time. Ridiculous king.” My father sat, stunned on his throne as the whispers grew louder. He gathered himself, shooting a weak smile my way. And then he stood. The _sabha_ fell silent in an instant, waiting to hear Janak’s words.

            “Shame. Shame on all the kings of Aryavarta. Today, a demon tried to stain my daughter’s honor and no one, not one person in this arena even lifted a finger!” My father addressed the people. “No one in this _sabha_ is fit to marry my daughter. No one deserves her.” His voice broke off, and he sat down to the throne heavily, exhausted with the effort of just speaking. There was an immense silence. It seemed the entire Aryavarta was embarrassed at Janak’s words. The silence grew louder and louder until it enveloped every person in their own fog, while I observed, some part of me still hoping.

Gong! The entrance bell was heard again. In the still arena, the sound bounced around and seemed to land right in my thudding heart. Someone was approaching. Could it be? Raam was approaching? As the doors opened, every head in the arena turned, wondering if the new entry could salvage the situation. As I looked up, the door closed, and three figures grew larger and came into view. _Rishi_ Vishwamitra, clad in saffron orange, entered with two finely dressed princes behind him. I finally laid my eyes on Raam, my heart racing in my chest. He seemed to shine bright like the sun, his yellow _angavastram_ beautifully offset against his dark skin. His bow rested gently on his shoulder, a strong arm wrapped around it, and his gem studded necklace swayed with every step he took. Lakshman, his brother, stood slightly behind him, dressed in deep blue to offset his golden skin, a twin bow over his shoulder. Vishwamitra looked at the  _sabha_ , then at me and finally at my father. Raam glanced at me, making eye contact for a brief second, a gentle smile on his face. I lowered my eyes quickly, blushing hard, avoiding his intense gaze and the flower of hope bloomed again.

The _rishi_ cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the hushed arena. At the sound, my father raised his head and quickly stood up, “Welcome, oh great sage. Please show us a way out of this situation. What can I do for my daughter?” Vishwamitra looked around, eyeing all the kings assembled. The silence roared, as they all came under his scrutiny. His severe gaze unnerved them, and they all began to cower in shame. Finally, he spoke loudly. “Raavan is gone, and good riddance. But his words remain. Does Mithila doubt that Lord Shiva will find a husband for Sita?”

            “Not at all, I have full faith in the Lord, but who will try now? You said it yourself, there are no kings left in Aryavarta,” my father replied.

            “But there is one prince left. Raam.” At this, the kings began to laugh, the sound echoing in the hall.

            “That little boy?”

            “Hah! He is nothing. Barely of age.”

            “Weakling, what bow will he lift?”

            “He can barely lift the bow on his shoulder.”

            “No strength in him at all.”

            “Ehh, let him fail, then we’ll see.”

The laughter grew louder still, but Raam’s smile never wavered. Lakshman, however began to anger. His eyes blazed with fire and his chest began to heave. Every word murmured enraged him until he erupted.

            “ENOUGH!” Lakshman thundered, silencing the arena again. “Raam Bhaiyya _can_ lift that bow and can restore the princess’ honor! He is the true definition of a Kshatriya prince! How DARE you insult him in this way!” The younger son of Dasharath began to tense, bow in hand, ready to fight, but Raam gently touched his shoulder, forcing him to calm down and stand down.

Vishwamitra spoke again. “ _Raj Rishi_ Janak, Raam is your solution to this problem. He will rescue your honor and Sita’s honor. Raam, lift that bow, prove your strength, and win Sita’s hand.” Beside me, Urmila’s breath hitched. _Didi, your wish might just come true!_

Raam finally stepped forward. He uttered only three words, “As you wish.” He shrugged off his bow, and handed it to Lakshman, and turned to Vishwamitra, bowing to touch his feet. He then looked at my father with his hands folded, looking for permission in his eyes. Janak nodded and finally, Raam turned towards the platform. He stepped up to the bow and kneeled, bringing his head to the floor, bowing deeply at such a divine item. Raam muttered venerations to Shiva, while the arena waited with bated breath. I had forgotten how to breathe itself. Raam gently brushed a hand from the top of the bow to the bottom, and I could swear the _Pinaka_ actually quivered happily. It welcomed Raam’s loving touch. When Raam grasped the hilt, my mother gasped. _He’s going to lift it with only one hand?_ The feat seemed impossible, but I knew he would be the one to lift it as soon as he had touched the sacred bow. With a slight heave and a gasp from the entire arena, Raam lifted the _Pinaka_ , up right above his head without even breaking a sweat. The bow seemed to sing with happiness, it had given way to Raam’s strength.

But now, stringing the bow remained. As everyone watched with bated breath and widened eyes, Raam steadily brought the bow down to rest against the platform it was on. The sinewy bowstring hung limply in his other hand, while Raam ran his hand to the upper notch in the great bow. He pulled to bowstring up to the upper notch only for it to fall short. He tugged the bow down and the string up, the muscles in his arm straining to pull the great bow. The string was stretched to capacity, any more, and it would break. The _Pinaka_ groaned under the pressure of Raam’s pull, but either the bow or the string had to give. Until… SNAP! The crack echoed through the arena as people looked on in disbelief. The huge bow was broken. A clean snap right at the handle. The great _Pinaka_ , the bow of Lord Shiva, the bow that had destroyed the city of Tripura, splinted in two. Utterly broken. A wave of power and a large sigh surged through the great hall, rustling everyone’s silks and Raam gently set the broken bow back down on the platform. Everyone sat stunned. What to do? What on earth had just happened? Everyone looked to Raam, to see if he would say anything, defend himself or even just address the situation.

Raam looked at my father and the sages and stepped away from the platform. He folded his hands together humbly and spoke. “Venerable sages, mighty kings of Aryavarta, _Raj rishi_ Janak, I ask for forgiveness in breaking this divine bow. I personally do not know how I broke it, but I do believe there was a reason for this bow breaking. Mutual respect was broken in this arena, all because ego was pinned on lifting this bow. By breaking the bow, the ego vanished too.” As he talked, the crowd began to settle, his deep baritone voice, calming words, and polite tone providing a soothing balm to their bruised egos. “I sincerely apologize for breaking this divine bow, and the turmoil that it caused. That was not my intention at all,” he concluded, bowing deeply.

            “Raam, you breaking the great _Pinaka_ fulfils the challenge I put forth for my Sita’s hand. Your explanation in breaking the bow shows intelligence, humility, and nobility. You are the perfect husband for her. Please accept her hand in marriage.” My father responded looking at me, smiling.

            “Oh king, I would be honored to accept your daughter’s hand in marriage. However, I will not do so without her permission and approval. A _swayamvar_ dictates that the _kanya_ decides her groom. Let the princess state her will before we continue.”

            All eyes turned to me. Coyly, I stood, and took a small step forward, suddenly shy with everyone’s gaze on me. “Father, it is my good fortune that I am able to see a man value a woman’s respect over his own glory. Accepting such a valiant, honorable, and magnanimous prince as my husband would my privilege.”

            “Then, with the blessings of Sage Vishwamitra and Sage Yagnavalkya, my daughter garland your groom.”

I bowed deeply to the seated sages and turned to my mother. Looking into her eyes, I saw contentment and delight and  as she smiled from ear to ear, she placed the lotus garland in my hand, while Urmila squealed with happiness in my ear. _Didi! Finally!_ I stepped down from the dais where I was seated and began the long walk to Raam. Focusing on the ground, I had to stop myself from running to him in happiness, my heart singing with joy. I could not stop the bashful grin from spreading on my face as I neared him. Every step I thanked the gods for helping me to find Raam. Thank you Lord Shiva! Thank you Mother Earth! _Thank you, thank you, thank you._ Soon, I stood right in front of him. I was so full of love and bliss, I felt like I was going to burst. I slowly raised my eyes and looked Raam in the face, memorizing his features. I saw the wavy jet black hair beneath his crown, his arched eyebrows, the gold flecks in his warm brown irises, his dilated pupils, his sharp nose, his striking jaw, his pillowed lips, his strong shoulders. I gazed at him with open adoration, as he gazed at me. Just me and him. Just us. The surroundings had vanished. I saw his lips tug into a smile, while he glanced down to my hennaed hands clutching the garland that was stuck halfway between us. He looked back up at me gently smiling, a question in his eyes. _Will you garland me now?_ My eyes widened and I flustered. In my effort to study him, I had forgotten my actual task. Blushing profusely, too shy to even look him in the face, heart beating out of my chest, I raised my trembling hands to garland my prince. He accepted the garland, and reached to my side, where my mother stood, with another garland in her hands. He took it and placed it gently around my neck. My eyes fluttered shut as my worn out heart finally found rest. Finally, finally, _finally_ I had found Raam. _My_ Raam.

 

 

Definitions: 

_Angavastram_ : piece of cloth worn over the upper body

_Aryavarta_ : Ancient India

_Bhaiyya_ : older brother

_Bhakt_ : devotee

_Dasharath:_  Raam's father

_Didi:_ older sister

_diyas_ : Lamps

_Hey Bhagwan!_ : Oh God!

_Janak_ : Sita's father

_Kanya_ : unwedded maiden, daughter

_Kshatriya_ : Warrior caste in the ancient caste system

_Mata_ : Mother or Wife of Sage

_Mithila_ : Sita's home city, current day Bihar area?

_Pinaka_ : Lord Shiva's Sacred Bow

_Rishi_ : Sage

_Sabha_ : arena

_Swayamvar_ : a ritual where the princess/bride is allowed to choose her groom. Trials can be set by family or the bride herself to choose her groom.

_Tapovan_ : a style of teaching that existed in Ancient India. The disciple would stay with his teacher for 10+ years and learn everything in a life oriented style of teaching.

_Urmila_ : Sita's younger sister

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so I told you this was fluffy. You would not BELIEVE how long I sat on this story. Raam is elusive as always, but this was my attempt to see him through a different lens. 
> 
> I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Let me know what you all think okay?


End file.
